


The Whisper of Hell

by booktick



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Heavy Angst, Implied Hawkeye/BJ, Other, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sad Ending, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Timeline What Timeline, i only tagged the last three characters because they play an important role in the fic, this is a mostly hawkeye centered fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 01:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17715245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: Hawkeye thought of a thousand jokes and said none.





	The Whisper of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise. 
> 
> A/N: My tenses in this fic are...all over the place (much like the fic itself 😄). I quickly edited and wrote it but I wanted to write more Hawkeye and then Hawkeye angst happened in my writing for him and here we are.

* * *

Not everything is as easy as one, two buckle the shoe. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about ringing up Beej, or sending a letter. He’s been busy. He has. He had to help Dad unpack his things and had to fill out a few forms, calm his heartbeat whenever helicopters went over their heads. It was a…it was gonna take some time was all. Then... _then_ when everything was better and fine again…he’d get in contact.

That’s what Hawkeye told himself and kept telling himself after the first couple of months went by. It’s hard, in the beginning, that’s what people say? War isn’t a vacation, there’s no rest from it. It follows around like a ghost, or a shadow that hasn’t learned that the light has gone out by now.

Hawkeye doesn’t know how to explain to the world that he’s not himself and he isn’t sure how to explain that one even to himself. Dad tries. He really does. Hawkeye would have tried to find some reason why he had such a wonderful parent. He doesn’t know when or how the stars aligned to have Daniel Pierce as his father but somehow it happened and he was grateful to come home to that. It’s harder on nights he has nightmares, which are often, and he wakes up screaming in a cold sweat only to feel his father’s arms around him or a gentle voice in his ear saying it’s okay.

But it’s _not_. It’s _really not_ okay. How was he supposed to get to okay? How was he supposed to get to better and to fine again? It's about three to four months (he stopped counting the days after it'd been two months) when Hawkeye gets his first letter from BJ Hunnicutt. It has photos in it, or so his Dad tells him. He can’t bare to read it, nonetheless pick it up and look at it. BJ won't ever leave his thoughts and it's all Hunnicutt's fault.

Hawkeye doesn't want to blame Beej. His fingers burned as soon as he let them trail over BJ’s name on the envelope right from the start. It doesn’t feel _right_ here in Crabapple Cove, Maine. This isn’t Korea, this is not the 4077th anymore. BJ didn’t owe him anything, no letters, no words of comfort— _nothing_.

Yet, there was the first letter…and then the second…and a third and a few from Peg Hunnicutt too. He doesn’t remember if he even gave either of the Mr. and Mrs. Hunnicutt his home number. He has the sneaky suspicion that his father may have during the reunion a while back. It would be just like Dad to do that. To reach out to something that gave his son a momentary comfort. He’s not so sure he can reach back out as they reached in was all.

Why couldn’t he have died instead of Tommy? The thought occasionally wanders into his head and he feels sick to his stomach immediately afterwards. He has to kneel in front of whatever he can at the time and dry heave until his chest burns, until his entire being burns. Tommy wanders too much in his head, like everything else. He can’t let BJ see him like this…hear him like this. He just…he wants to cut it out. Why can’t he just cut it out of himself?

He’s a doctor. He knows the source. Why can’t he just…stop hurting…? But he knows. Sidney would have reminded him he had more to give to the world or…something more poetic maybe. Sidney had a way with words that Hawkeye lacked recently. It was terrifying, more than that. All of it. It was worse than that. He thought the war in Korea had been the brute of the trauma but the thing about trauma is that it doesn’t just go away because you’ve gone somewhere new, because you’ve left. It follows. Like a disease, it sticks to you and you can’t do anything but try and treat it.

But Hawkeye…he was a doctor. He was trained to fight the disease. He couldn’t find enough sutures to seal it up, never enough…no matter how hard he tried it was never enough. It followed him and it kept following him, like the damn war. He hates choppers. He hates loud noises. And he hates himself. Not always in that order. Hawkeye knows that BJ is back in San Francisco right now, enjoying the Sun and his time with his family. Erin probably excited Dad's home and Peg relieved she doesn't need to wonder if someone will come to her door to deliver terrible news.

The Hunnicutt family is safe and happy and good. It's a good...a good situation for BJ, to have someone to fall back on. It's not like he doesn't have his Dad waiting for him but it's different. Hawkeye can wear guilt better than anyone. His Dad shouldn't have to deal with...this. BJ shouldn't have to too. Not when Beej's just gotten back to his...home. Hawkeye yelled at BJ's photo the other day until he broke down in tears. Until it hurt to breathe. Daniel doesn't say much about it, only makes sure he's okay.

Hawkeye is washed over by the grief and the guilt all at once that he doesn't let himself explain, break down further and tell Dad everything. He should be happy for BJ. He is happy for BJ. He has to be. He never thought he'd end up reading any of Beej's letters. A small part of Hawkeye thought maybe none would ever come, like with Trapper.

He had avoided the lettere as soon as they started coming, made excuses and lies to get away from them. But it's a drizzling morning, foggy out and cold, and there was a letter, another from the dozens, with the rest of the mail. He should wear something better in the weather but he's in his robes and slippers and he can't remember why his hands are cold as he picks up the letter.

He loses himself for a good five minutes, staring at the sealed envelope before finally forcing himself, his stiff fingers, to open it to read. He doesn't know if he's gotten past ' _Dear Hawk_ ' when a voice speaks up. He doesn't look up, doesn't move, not right away anyway.

"Another letter?" Hawkeye didn't look up from where he currently sat, which was on a stool in the corner of the kitchen.

His knees were practically up to his ears from how he remained not quite sitting but more crouched upon the stool. It wasn't the kitchen or the stool Hawkeye was focused on. His eyes were on the letter in his hands, gripping it so tightly. He held onto the opened letter with such attention and devotion that he was beyond terrified he'd want to write BJ back before he even finished it and would end up accidentally tearing the paper in his rush. So, he took a deep breath each time the urge came. It was his Dad's voice that shook him from his haze.

"Hawk?" Daniel Pierce asked again, "Benjamin?"

"Huh?" Hawkeye lifted his head for the first time since he picked up the once sealed letter.

"The letter." Daniel nodded towards the letter Hawkeye held like a life preserver, "It's from BJ?"

Hawkeye looked down at the letter again, "Oh...yeah. Yeah, he...wanted to check in on me." He doesn't realize he's mumbling until he looks up and Dad's giving him a stern look.

He shrugged, scratching the back of his head. Where he can still feel Beej's fingers touching there. He looks back to the letter instead of at the older man, a way of not having to answer the question plastered on Daniel Pierce's face. It's easier to avoid it when Dad's not feeling confrontational. Sidney would have said it was ungainly or whatever synonym fit the bill. Not the way to approach the trauma they'd all suffered in Korea.

He wanted Sidney to be there, tell what he should do or not do...just...to _be there_ at all would maybe let him breathe a little easier. But Hawkeye isn't so sure if he deserves to get better...those can happen on really bad days, when the thousands of thoughts in his skull overwhelm him to pieces and he doesn't know how to fit them all back together by dinner. He doesn't like those days. He doesn't eat much on those days, nonetheless sleep. He missed being able to sleep without waking up crying. He would lay in bed for hours and when he'd finally pass out from exhaustion days later, he'd wake to a wet...no, a _soaked_ shirt.

Hawkeye gradually let his legs lower some, his feet not quite touching the floor but his slippers fell off with two hushed plops. His toenails cut short and perfect, while his veins practically shot out from his skin. He could feel them throbbing from here. They were a real menace in his opinion, hated the site of them bare to the rest of the world, nonetheless Maine.

He kept a lot of himself covered up ever since returning home...

He wondered if BJ did anything similar...

Hawkeye pressed his elbow into his thigh and leaned forward. "He says Erin's talking." He rested his cheek against palm, "Says Dada a lot. Mama."

There was a soft sigh from across the room. "You make it sound like a tragedy, son." He knows his Dad meant well but the words came out harder than Hawkeye would have liked.

Daniel moved a few steps closer to the fridge and opened it, removing bottles from it filled with milk. He could hear the way the glasses clinked as they hit each other. The way the fridge cringed as Dad shut it at a slower pace, bones not as young as Hawkeye's--not anymore. Everything seemed so much louder in Maine and there must have been some sort of joke in there that Hawkeye just couldn't find. All he knew was that he was the punchline and Dad was getting them...milk. Glasses of milk from the most pristine cows of Maine, if he wanted to be specific--he could imagine Charles' face at that thought.

Did milk in Boston still come in bottles? Or were the Winchesters too good for packaging? If he ever got around to writing BJ back, he might have to ask the fair Hunnicutt what he thought and how he got his milk.

"Dad, you know they've started packaging the stuff, right?" He pulled the letter away from his face.

"I don't know what your Boston friend likes when it comes to his milk, son," Hawkeye didn't know if he meant Trapper or Winchester and he didn't want to ask, "But I like to see what's in mine before I drink it." 

The bottles of milk were placed on the table. Two for two, chilled to perfection. They looked so small on the table, so vulnerable somehow. All he would have to do was bump into the table just a bit and off they'd go. Ruined...because of him. He shook the image away, his hair in his eyes and in need of a cut. He tried to blow the strands of grey out from his eyes but they fell in place again so he took to tucking it. He could feel his Dad's smile before he looked back at the older Dr. Pierce.

The older man nodded to the bottles of milk with the sort of smile that got the crows feet at the corner of the eyes out in action. Hawkeye wasn't particularly thirsty for anything or intimidated by the milk but he curled his lip some at the sight of it before shaking his head and looking back down at his letter. As for Daniel, the old man kept his eye on his son as he picked one up and began to drink.

Hawkeye could feel the attempt to be subtle but it wasn't always his Dad's strongest trait. He figured the 4077th could have said the same thing about him. His thumbs traveled over the words a few times, especially the part where it said the Hunnicutts missed him. Peg and Erin hadn't even met him. All they had of Uncle Hawk were the letters he sent from Korea and whatever else BJ had sent. Words and pictures can be fairly different from the real thing.

"You know," Daniel swallowed, "Mrs. Hunnicutt was a real sweetheart, Hawkeye."

"Mhm." He scratched his cheek once he got to BJ mentioning Peg again in the letter.

There weren't any photographs in this one but Beej made mention of some being in the other ones, the unopened ones actually...not that BJ knew that. From lack of his response, it could be assumed either Hawkeye wasn't receiving the letters, hadn't opened them or had and didn't want to reply. None of the above options tasted good in Hawk's mouth. He smacked his lips a few times, trying to get it out. He had to remember, not that he could forget, _that_ taste wasn't going anywhere. Not anytime soon.

He'll have to deal with it. And that...that would be... _difficult_. He already had plenty on his back, more than he count really. He had Korea, BJ, and that damn bus all piled in there too. He didn't...know what to do with his hands anymore. Even as he held the letter and tried to be as gentle as he could, as careful as he could...it all felt too close and so wrong. Everything was close and wrong.

"Hawkeye." There was a hand at his shoulder.

He lifted his head after a few deep breaths, blinking away the wet on his eyelashes. Daniel has a hand at his stained cheek. The old man was cupping his son's face and his thumb stroked, wiping at the tears. Hawkeye can't find the right words, and thank you sounds useless to him somehow. So, he bows his head again and sniffles, clearing his throat as he folds BJ's letter and slips it back in the envelope.

"How about we have some breakfast?" Hawk shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm not hungry..." He mumbled.

"Just some toast." Daniel lifts his hand to Hawkeye's hair, stroking the locks of hair that shouldn't be this gray this soon "It'll settle your stomach."

Hawkeye caves after another unsteady but deep breath, the sort that hurts the ribs. " _Sure_ , Dad." He closed his eyes for what felt like eternity, or at least until his Dad had let go of him. "I'll have toast."

Daniel nodded once, not trying to push for more as he walked towards the bread on the counter. Hawkeye notices the way his Dad turns his body just enough to be able to see him in the corner of the eye. So Hawkeye isn't completely out of view. Just in case he gets the _wrong_ idea at the _wrong_ time and he's not close by sort of thing. Hawkeye's all too familiar with that sort of business. He turned his head away so he didn't have to see any of it. Instead, he stands and slips off the stool.

His steps are even and slow as he approached the table with the bottles of milk. The letter from BJ placed neatly beside the two bottles and he sits at the table with more of a groan than a sigh. His movement isn't as fast as it was at the 4077th. There isn't as much need to be that way in Crabapple Cove. No choppers to rush to, no bodies to cut into...no Klinger to save from Charles. He really missed Klinger. Ohio must be really special if it had Max there.

"Toast will be ready soon." Daniel announced.

Hawkeye nodded but didn't look over his shoulder at him. He let his fingers run over the tablecloth instead. It was soft under his fingertips, smooth and cold from their recent weather. It had needed a washing after...the last incident at breakfast. That had been a few days ago. He didn't know how his Dad got the stain out but as his fingers trailed over towards the middle--it was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. He let his free hand go to his hair again, fingers sliding through the just as soft material. His stomach had kept sloshing around whenever he moved, no matter how stiff his limbs were.

As he kept running his fingers through his hair and over the cloth, it stopped sloshing inside all together and became still again...it became heavy and thick. It wasn't like the rock on his back, the weight there kept him low but he expected it...felt he deserved it. The rock in his gut...it was new to him ever since he touched the soil of Crabapple Cove. Not even when Tommy died did he feel this sort heaviness. It had been a completely different sort of feeling, a different sort of heft to it. When Tommy died, he thought he had emptied out his insides.

Was this because Tommy died and he lived? Tommy's parents don't get to see their son yet he gets to breathe each day as a reminder of what they lost. The best friend who couldn't even...

 _Selfish_.

Hawkeye rubbed at his eyes, this groan louder than the previous as he tore his palms away from his face. He blinked a few times and saw the plate of toast in front of him. He hadn't even noticed his Dad coming over. His fingers don't automatically reach for the food, only sliding around the rim of the plate. The plate was just as breakable as the glass bottles... _damn it_. Why couldn't he just eat the toast? There was a scuff against the floor and then another as Daniel sat across from Hawkeye with his own toast.

The older man didn't reach for his food either. He only had eyes on his child, who at the moment looked ready to curl up and cry. Hawkeye's smile was thin and didn't meet the eyes and his fingers had curled into his palms by now, into fists, on the table. Hawkeye planted his fists against the table, trembling some, blinking away the rest of the tears and sniffled all over again. 

Hawkeye was  _trying_. He...He just...he needed...a moment...he needed...

"We don't have to eat just yet." Daniel kept his voice as gentle as his hugs, "We got time. We can wait. Whenever you're ready, Ben...just let me know and I'll join you." Hawkeye swallowed the shame in his throat and nodded.

His Dad could be so painfully patient with him and there was that shame again. He could never apologize enough to make any of this better for his father. He was there nearly caving in on himself and his Dad was saying it was okay. That they'd both eat when  _he_ was ready.

Hawkeye thought of a thousand jokes and said none. He _couldn't_. So he strains and smiles and nods, trying not to let himself be consumed completely--not in front of his Dad. It hurts to smile though, sometimes...it hurts more to speak. And as he breathed through his nose, he would keep his mouth shut. It was breakfast and he read BJ's letter and Dad was doing the best he could for him. Hawkeye knew he couldn't speak until the moment had passed to something a little bit bearable, even if it was a horrible, endless vicious cycle.

If he opened his mouth...he'd _scream_.

 


End file.
